Get On The Bus
by dcat8888
Summary: Takes place within the episode of 'Rolling Thunder'


Get On The Bus

by dcat

This story takes place in the midst of the Rolling Thunder episode, just after the Judge sends McCormick to the County lock up and it ends before the Judge shows up at the jail to make McCormick his final offer. I don't own these guys….I just like to play with their minds from time to time! Go Brewers!  There's a few extra profanities in here than usual, just a warning.

OOOOO

The LA County Jail was considered to be on the LA County Courthouse complex and so, after a trial, the offenders who were being held over in the jail would have to wait around for either the 12 noon or 5pm Corrections bus to take them from the Courthouse to the County Lock-Up. The distance was really only about four blocks, but to the sheriff deputies who were responsible for the transport, took no chances when it came to moving the prisoners from one location to another. They'd converted an old, beat-up school bus into a secured transport vehicle. The process had been developed and perfected over the years. The biggest downside unfortunately was for the offenders, because the process was long, slow, deliberate and often humiliating.

And so it was with Mark McCormick when the deputy sheriff entered Judge Hardcastle's chambers, grabbed McCormick's arm and led him out into the hall. The abruptness of Hardcase's action once Mark turned down the odd offer stunned him momentarily and part of him turned back to look one more time at the Judge and really wonder if he'd actually heard what he heard and more so, had he made the right choice by declining. It was such an odd feeling of bewilderment, that McCormick was actually silenced.

The deputy closed the door behind him and knowing he was out of the Judge's earshot said, "Let's go McCormick, we ain't got all day, we're already holding up the bus for you. Damn Hardcastle had to have his _special_ chat with you instead of just giving you your marching orders forty-five minutes ago in the courtroom."

Finally finding his voice he replied, "Life's rough everywhere, you know," McCormick chose to smart off rather than just follow orders. The smart mouth was always his first line of defense when he felt nervous. Why start something new now though, he thought, his mode of humor had served him fairly well, and there was no point in changing now. But maybe his mouth had just dug him in deeper in the Judge's chamber, maybe he should have asked Hardcase if he could mull over his offer. Nah, the other side of his brain fired back, you don't want to be taking orders from that lunatic indefinitely, you did the right thing. It was a subconscious battle of his brain and neither side felt satisfied with the decision his smart aleck mouth had made. Still in the back of his mind, he thought of how not true the 'life's rough everywhere' statement was. For someone like Judge Milton C. Hardcastle, life probably had never been rough. He probably had a silver gavel in his hand from birth on, judging and ruling on people's lives without really knowing all the facts. What he didn't understand was why Hardcase was on his tail from the moment he got out of San Quentin. And then some strange twist of fate put him back in this lunatic's court on one of his last days of being a judge. No, his life sure was rough. It was like Hardcase was watching him, hounding him, just knowing he'd screw up again and he was ready to pounce on him again now that he had the opportunity. His offer was just another way to stick it to McCormick, keep him under some sort of judicial control, well, no thank your honor. McCormick didn't regret what he did, he just regretted being caught. And now McCormick had heard the Judge's offer and it still didn't make much sense. The guy wanted to be some sort of crime-fighter in his retirement? And he wanted McCormick to help him. It was all just too harebrained to him. No rational mind did that.

"Shut up and keep walking," the deputy said, obviously not in a mood for a smart mouth. He gave Mark a little push, obviously he'd been slowed by his thoughts as he made his way down the hall. And the thoughts just kept coming.

McCormick gave him a grin and did as he was told. As much as he wanted to continue the verbal cracks with the deputy, he couldn't help but find himself dwelling on the conversation he'd just had with the crazy, lunatic Hardcase instead.

He gave him the standard 'drop dead' answer to his offer. As he strolled down the hall, he wondered if he'd spoken too soon. It was part of his brain vs. the other part. No way, he didn't want to fight crime with that nut job Judge. Yet, it was an opportunity to stay out of jail and he'd already spent two long years inside and wasn't exactly looking forward going back inside. It was one helluva volley going on up underneath the curly hair.

He got to the end of the hallway and sort of waited for direction from the deputy who put a hand on his back again and pushed him toward the end room that had a closed door. Mark pointed his finger at the door and the deputy answered, "Yeah, genius, get in there, I got a nice hot dinner waiting for me at home and your ass is holding me up."

McCormick shook his head ever so slightly at the deputy's comment. Another thing to hate about prison, being treated less than human. He didn't want to be where he was just as much as the officer. This is not at all what he had planned since he got out of San Quentin on February 10. But here he was going back to prison, all because he had to stop and make sure that cop that was chasing him was okay. He could have gotten away clean. And these sheriff deputies never read that part of the report. McCormick felt like shouting it at this deputy, YOU KNOW I SAVED ONE OF YOUR OWN FROM BEING INCINERATED, but he didn't, what good would that have done anyway? He merely opened the door and stepped inside and waited for the next order to be given to him. This sort of quiet acceptance was going to take some getting used to again. It felt more like giving up than getting used to though.

Another deputy was inside, behind a table. He had a clipboard and on the table were a pair of ankle and wrist shackles. "'Bout time you brought him in here," the deputy behind the desk said. "Everyone else is on the bus, ready to go, where the hell have you been with him?"

"Yeah, well take it up with Hardcastle, I'm sure he'll give a crap," the other deputy answered him. "He took him into chambers for like a half hour, probably needed him to crack open some peanut shells for him." They both laughed. "Same result as what would have happened in the court room an hour ago, lock his ass up, right?"

They laughed again and Mark failed to find the humor in any of it. He was standing right there. The deputy behind the table looked up at Mark and said, "McCormick, Mark?" Mark gave him a nod. The deputy jotted down a few things on the clipboard. "Stole another car again, you guys never do learn do you?" He looked over to Mark who didn't bother to answer. Why keep dredging it up, he knew what had happened anyway. Besides the other deputy had supper at home waiting for him. "Well, as the last customer for the night, I hate to tell you but all suites over at the palace have been booked for the night, but I can give you a cozy little cot in a single cell, one of ones that's been remodeled because of the overcrowding over there, how's that sound?"

"Sounds like you oughta be a Hollywood screenwriter rather than sitting behind this table," McCormick replied with a twinge of that still self-assured con-man left in him. Now he was just getting sick of Abbot and Costello here.

The deputy wasn't amused. Boy these two were not in the mood for McCormick's humor, about as much as he was for theirs. "Over against the wall," he responded standing up from the desk and picking up the shackles. Both deputies stepped in behind Mark. One patted him down and the other opened up the cuffs and got them ready to put on him. Then, there it was, first the sound of those shackles clanking and scraping and the then the feel of the restraints, freedom itself being taken away from him. Confined and restricted. He suddenly felt his heart rate increase and his body temperature rise from sensation. He had to force himself not to exhibit any signs of fear or trepidation. The sensations overloaded him for what was probably just a moment. The worst time of his life came flooding back and it seeped into every part of his being. He hated this beyond belief.

"Turn around," the other deputy said. McCormick obeyed without question and without a comment as he attempted to internally adjust to his new limits. One deputy put on the leg shackles while the other locked down his wrists. "Alright, you're all dressed and ready to go," the screenwriter deputy said. McCormick wondered why they made a joke of this. Perhaps they were just as uncomfortable with it as he was? They still had the upper hand in all of it, but maybe that's what actually scared them. Check off prison guard as a possible career choice. All he knew was that he'd hear the same thing over at the country jail and then again at Quentin. A tiny ache began to form at his temples.

McCormick didn't bother to waste another well-chosen comment on either one of them.

It was time to get on the bus. His legs and arms felt weaker and heavier than they ever had before.

"Let me remind you not to try anything funny McCormick," the first deputy felt it necessary to add.

McCormick walked behind one and the other deputy followed him. He didn't care, he wasn't going to run, right at this moment he didn't have the strength, real or emotional that running required. He began to re-think Hardcastle's offer yet again, even though he knew it was already too late to change his mind now. A flash of despair and sorrow swept over him. The Judge had let it dangle just long enough and when McCormick rejected it, he sent him off and told him his sentencing would follow. A parole violation and another GTA. He knew he was going away for a long time. They were at the elevator now, waiting for it to come to take them down to the 1st floor and the prisoner loading area.

McCormick watched the faces of the office workers as he passed by their cubicles and offices. Behind the rolodexes and the phones they plugged away at their jobs. They had all the breaks. None of their best friends were killed by someone who then stole a car design. None of them struggled through the foster child system after their mother died, stealing cars to make a few bucks to eat or to crash, sleeping outside a racetrack on a cold day in March hoping someone would come by and offer them a chance to learn something other than stealing. He scraped by so many times already he wondered if that's what his life would always be about, getting by and getting caught. He let out a deep breath and peered at their lives and wondered. A couple of them looked at him as he walked by. Humiliated by what seemed to be their glaring eyes, he dropped his head down and watched the dusty, tiled floor instead. He imagined he could read their thoughts, the majority probably already had him tagged as guilty. Some of the more creative ones probably tried to figure out by looking at him what he might have done. And the hardcore observers just wished he'd be locked up and never let out. It didn't matter that he wore a sport coat with a tie and looked like Joe Average, or that he had not only saved a cop from impending death, but also that he was retrieving property that rightly belonged to Flip Johnson's daughter, Barbara. He was the one in the shackles and that only meant one thing to the observers, guilty. But maybe he was wrong about them just as they were wrong about him. Funny thing was though, neither side would ever know.

Hardcastle stepped out of his chambers at the other end of the hall, heading toward the restroom when he glanced down the hall and saw the kid standing dejectedly between two deputies. He replayed the conversation he'd just had with the kid over and over in his head and already had put the call out to get information about this Martin Cody character. He wasn't quite ready to throw in the towel on McCormick yet, even though the blasted kid had spurned his offer. It only made Milt want him all the more for his project. As much as he wanted to march down the hall right that very moment and take the kid back into his custody, he knew he needed to be a little more calculated when it came to his next plan of action. He didn't get to be a Superior Court Judge by acting irrationally or impulsively. Still the look of hopelessness was evident in McCormick's body language. That look was what made Hardcastle realize that McCormick was ripe for picking. He couldn't do anything with an 'I don't care attitude,' like JJ Beal, but the 'I just want a chance to start over' look, Milt was sure he could make that work. It was time to bust down a wall or two that the kid had been applying mortar to.

He had hoped the kid would take the bait he offered him in his chambers, but he could see then that he'd have to somehow work on the trust factor issue with the kid. He had to face it, he was a Judge and he held the strings over the kid and the kid from where he stood, didn't want anyone but himself holding on to any of his strings. It was a simple power struggle issue. At this point in time the kid needed to have some control in his out of control life. And Milt knew it wasn't about the strings anyway, it was about turning someone's life around. McCormick didn't quite see that part yet. Hardcastle would have to work on that. As he stood there, he couldn't help but stare down the hall plotting up a way to bust through the wall the McCormick had built around his fortress. He'd take his file home again and re-read it tonight, looking for anything, any clue, any hint that might give him the key he needed to unlock the kid's internal prison cell.

Something caused McCormick to look back down the hall, maybe it was one last look at normalcy. When he looked up he saw Hardcastle down at the other end watching him.

The elevator came and he got pushed on it. He looked one more time as the elevator door was closing and the Judge was gone. That quick again, another missed opportunity.

What could he do now? How was he going to get out of this one? And who could he even turn to? There was no one but himself. And that only made the Judge's offer, which he had stupidly rejected in a brash moment of mouth over mind, even more pronounced in the forefront of his overworked brain.

He knew what he couldn't do. His public defender sucked. The only real friend he had, Flip Johnson, was dead and there was no way he would even consider calling Barbara. She had the car and explicit orders to keep it under wraps just in case anything went wrong. He also instructed her not to get in touch with him. When things were all clear he'd call her. And now, he couldn't do that. He would not jeopardize her in any way shape or form. That came from the same place that saving the cop during the chase had come from. He chalked that up to his mom. Never turn your back on a true friend, never kill anyone, and if you can save someone's life, save it. Did Hardcastle believe in any of those things, he couldn't help but wonder?

The elevator opened again and the deputies ushered him down another hallway, toward the bus dock. The door to the outside was open and McCormick could see that it was raining pretty heavily, a crack of thunder rolled and lightening split the sky that he could still see. Once again, McCormick was shoved in the back. The rain began to coat him. Could anything else go wrong? Now he was getting soaked by the thunderstorm.

"Where the hell is the bus?" Deputy Jones asked. There was no vehicle in sight.

"I told them we had one more coming," Deputy Smith answered.

"Call 'em on the radio and get them back here now," Jones said.

Smith trotted back inside to find out where it was while Smith scanned the area for a bus. McCormick fought the urge to joke with him that he was sure he wasn't 'hiding' it anywhere, but these two deputies were not feeling very jovial on this fine evening, not when it came to interacting with an offender.

"Looks like you'll miss dinner at the palace McCormick," Jones said, gazing at his watch. "It was just hash anyway, I saw it on the daily log sheet, you won't miss much."

Mark still stood out in the rain and was just about to say something about it, like 'can I wait inside,' when Jones finally used his brain and said, "Might as well wait in the hall McCormick, and don't worry, they'll even give you a new set of dry clothes when you get to the intake, a nice pretty denim blue."

Mark stepped inside and lifted his shackled hands to his face to try to mop up some of the rain that was dripping down his curly hair into his eyes.

Smith came back carrying a couple of metal folding chairs. He opened one up and told McCormick to sit down. "The bus is on its way back, Terry says he forgot, he thought Talmadge was the last one. They're going to come back before they even unload. No sense in going through it twice." Jones nodded. Then Smith said to McCormick, "The guys on the bus are going to be ticked off at you. No one will get any dinner now, chow time will be long past by the time they process all of you. My advice to you is keep your distance from the rest of your bus mates, good thing you got your own cell."

No chow and a bunch of guys who'd blame him for not getting a meal, what could be better, he thought. Hardcastle sure had stuck a wrench into this day. Heck, into his life. He wiped some more of the rain away from his eyes, so that he could see clearly. Letting out an exhaustive breath, he decided right then and there that he needed to stop blaming Hardcastle for everything, even though a case for blame could easily stem from him. There was his stupid, two sides of brain battling each other once again. But no, now it was just the way things happened to him, he never seemed to catch a break or to think things through enough to avoid ending up on the wrong side of things. The thing he hated the most about prison wasn't that it gave him time to think, thinking was good, but the fact he couldn't put his thoughts to use really drove him crazy. It just wasn't a prison for the body, but for the mind as well. Regretfully, he had made some wrong decisions based on his thinking on the outside and now he was left to wait in the rain to get on a bus to take him back to prison. He wished there was a different bus coming to take him anywhere but where he had to go. Busses didn't run to a new starting place, they only ran to pre-determined destinations. And having these thoughts gave him nothing but trouble. He wanted to rest his head on his hands but the cuffs made it impossible. He was a mess.

He shivered from the dampness that surrounded him.

Hardcastle, still up on the 4th floor in his chambers, gathered up his files and decided it was time to head home to some of Sarah's legendary roast beef. He told his clerk to call him at home with any information on Martin Cody. He actually found himself wanting McCormick to be right about this guy, because if he was right and Cody had a speck of dirt in his dossier, Milt would go after him. Why couldn't the kid see that he was interested in law and order, good and bad, right and wrong, not mistrust? He had no other ulterior motive, just justice. If Cody was dirty, it'd give Milt an excuse to give the kid his offer one more time. The kid had to be dangling on the line, wanting to take the bait, but just needing one little push. He could see it in his face. Maybe then, McCormick would believe what he said and trust his offer and that might just be enough to swing the scales of in Hardcastle's favor. This was the kid he wanted. He was sure of it now, more than he'd ever been before.

The two deputies talked lightly about the trade the Dodgers had made earlier in the day and that led McCormick to wonder if he'd ever be so comfortable in his life to have a basic discussion over a baseball trade with anyone. It hadn't happened yet. Normal wasn't in his vocabulary, at least it hadn't been since his mother had died. That's how he saw it. He knew he was feeling sorry for himself, but as much as he tried to have a 'normal' life, his efforts failed miserably. Was chasing after so-called bad guys with a retired Judge normal? No! An emphatic hell no, a no-way Ray, no. Maybe that's why he turned Hardcase down, that for sure wasn't normal. It was so far from normal that busses didn't run there either. In fact it sounded just as stupid as stealing the Coyote had been.

Lonely, cold, damp, hungry and in so deep, he had no clue how to even begin to dig out.

The old, decrepit, refurbished school bus, complete with grates on the windows, pulled up in the still, pouring rain.

"On your feet McCormick, let's go," Jones said. McCormick got up and stepped back out into the rain. They made him wait again, this time for the door of the bus to open and then to rearrange some of the passengers in order to accommodate his presence.

The bus loading area was in the same vicinity where the Judge's got to park their cars. Mark suddenly wished he was on the opposite end of this parking scheme. He'd rather be heading to one of the luxury cars than a prison bus. Of course, it was typical that the people with the most prestige got the good spots, that and the offenders who needed to be ushered in and out as quickly as possible were easily and unceremoniously shuffled from one spot to another. It was just like doctors and hospitals and emergency entrances. Just once, McCormick hoped he'd be in the reserved parking lot and not in the emergency entrance.

As he waited he saw Hardcastle step out from another doorway and pull on a jacket that looked to be a size too small for his massive upper body. Hardcastle began to make a sprint for his car. He didn't carry a briefcase, true to his comic book form, he carried several overflowing manila folders, bursting at the seams, and bound to get drenched even in the short distance he had to go. He obviously didn't care about getting himself or his work wet. And that fit with everything that Mark had witnessed about the Judge. He couldn't help but practically admire Hardcase's dismissal of status quo and doing what everyone else was doing. This old donkey more than marched to his own drum, hell, he brought along his own jug band and probably played polkas too. This guy was one of life's most visual characters ever. How could a unicorn like that ever make it in a thoroughbred world? It more than puzzled and intrigued him. In an odd way he admired it.

McCormick kept observing him. Hardcastle slowed to a brisk-type walk and nearly dropped one of the files, but made a save at the last moment and stopped walking completely to try to adjust and organize the contents.

Mark wanted to yell at him and remind him that it was pouring out and any adjusting and or organizing could be done inside the contents of one of the luxurious autos in the lot that belonged to him, again he considered the normal issue and the fact that Hardcase was anti-normal. He briefly wondered what the Judge drove. BMW maybe, could be the Saab that sat in one of the spots, more likely the Towne Car, dark blue, practical, pretty conservative, yet very stable.

"McCormick, get up there," Jones said, followed by that familiar back push.

Hardcastle must have heard his name get called out by the deputy, because he stopped and turned to give the kid one more look.

This time McCormick made eye contact with him and gave him a grin.

Hardcastle just stood there and watched him as he boarded. The happy-go-lucky grin didn't fool Milt one bit. In fact he saw right through it, just like he saw through the wise cracks in the courtroom. It was just a line of defense, something he utilized to hide the fear, conceal the hurt, veil his real feelings, no the kid wasn't JJ Beal, there was more to him, so much more to him, something more honest, more responsible, more caring. It wouldn't be easy with McCormick, but nothing good was ever easy.

McCormick got on the bus and was directed to a seat and secured by the deputies. He focused again on the Judge in the parking lot. Hawaiian shirt blazing, busting through the flimsy nylon rain jacket he wore, crazy looking shorts on, ripped up tennis shoes, the guy wasn't really a judge, he was just some sort of TV character and this was all just some weird dream. His line of sight clouded over.

Between the grated window and the rain streaming down, McCormick watched and the Judge watched him right back. What was it Hardcase had said to him at Dahlem's office, earlier in the week, "You might not realize it, but I'm looking out for you," McCormick tried to recall his exact wording. Was the keyword in that sentence 'out?' Nobody ever looked out for McCormick but McCormick. Could it be true? How could know for sure, how could he ever believe it? That was another place busses didn't run to, trust. He looked away for a moment at the other offenders on the bus. Despair was written not only on their faces but in their hearts as well. It was a mirror. It didn't matter now, he took a deep breath, he'd blown the latest chance he had gotten. The only thing left for him now was the 'hanging' as Hardcase had so eloquently put it.

When he glanced back into the parking lot, Hardcastle had suddenly disappeared. McCormick couldn't tell exactly which car was his, as the rain made it impossible to see anything clearly. Near to the Towne Car was a beat up 1949 pick-up. There was no way a Superior Court Judge would drive that, it must be some maintenance worker or a contractor vehicle. McCormick was pretty sure the Judge was inside the Towne Car.

The bus started to pull away, McCormick couldn't help but wonder what life held for him now. Four blocks from where his life would end and more prison time would begin. Four blocks from hell.

From the inside of the pickup, Hardcastle watched the kid in the window, it pulled away. He saw the kid drop his head down. He smiled and to the inside of the cab of his comfy old pick-up he said, "Kiddo, you just gotta get on the right bus, 'cause the one you're on, is taking you nowhere."


End file.
